Dead Summit (Book 1): Dead Summit

by Loubier, Daniel

  She marched back to the sofa to get the axes and machete. They were gone. She looked behind the sofa. They weren’t there, either. She paced around the room, her eyes darting back and forth.

  “Where the fuck are my things?” she asked.

  “Now just you wait there a minute, miss,” he said, gesturing with both hands.” You need to take it down a notch. You have no idea what’s waiting for you out there.

  She stopped and turned toward him.

  “I know exactly what’s outside,” she said. “Which is why I’m not staying here.”

  Roy dropped his hands by his sides and scoffed. He half-grinned.

  “Well then, Dr. Confidence, don’t let me stop you,” he said. “You go right ahead. You know where the door is.” He gestured toward the main hallway.

  Grace thought she saw something in the way he smirked. She paused, considering Roy’s words for only a moment before starting toward the hallway.

  “I’m outta here.”

  “Good, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Roy said sarcastically. “Although...you may want to take a look out one of them windows. Might be best to strategize your route.”

  He was fucking with her. She knew it. She just needed to get out of the hut and get down the mountain. She entered the main hallway at a slight jog. She was still unarmed. Fuck! She would check the rooms to see if anything had been left behind, anything that could be used as a weapon.

  She searched the first room on her left. There was a backpack on the floor. She found a buck knife in one of the pockets. Not bad, but not good enough. She needed something bigger. Something she could swing, like a bat...or a hatchet.

  She looked through several more rooms. Each time she crossed the hallway, she noticed Roy in her periphery. He hadn’t moved. He was still standing in the same spot in the common room, arms folded, staring down the hall.

  What’s his deal?

  She ignored him and continued searching. She walked into a room that looked familiar: George and Cheryl’s room. Grace shuddered as she thought again about the incident in the kitchen. Cheryl had been such a sweetheart, such a kind lady. But those eyes—the ferocity. She wasn’t Cheryl anymore by then, though—of that much Grace was convinced. Cheryl had been incredibly sweet to her and Charlie the night before. In the kitchen, however, Cheryl was not Cheryl. She was something else. Grace shook the memory from her head and focused.

  She tossed items around the room as she looked for a weapon. She crouched to the floor and checked under the bed. There was a day pack. Grace pulled the pack out from under the bed. The initials “GR” were stitched on the front. It was George’s pack. She loosened the drawstring at the top. A jolt, equal parts excitement and relief, shot through her: There was a small revolver inside.

  She dumped the contents of the pack onto the bed. A headlamp fell out, along with some tissue, a protein bar, and a box of bullets. Now we’re talking, she thought. She’d never loaded a gun before, but she suspected she’d seen enough cop movies to figure it out.

  As she rose from the bed, fumbling with the box of bullets in her hands, Roy’s last words played in her head again.

  You may want to take a look out one of them windows.

  She turned toward the window. The glare from the light in the room prevented her from clearly seeing outside; she could only see her own reflection. She turned and reached for the light switch. She flipped it down and turned back toward the window.

  The empty revolver fell out of her hand and landed on the floor. Her feet were frozen. She wanted to turn and run. Walk. Fall to the ground. Jump. Any kind of movement that let her know she still had control over her extremities. She began to sway, which apparently was enough. Natural reflex caused her right leg to move out in front of her. She swayed again. Her left leg moved. Then her right again. She was walking. Toward the window. She stopped when she was a foot away from the glass and stared.

  There were hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands. Men, women, and children paced the grounds outside the hut. They staggered back and forth, moving in lines, following each other in a confused but seemingly choreographed formation. Grace looked deeper into the mob. The never-ending rows of undead ebbed and flowed like waves, a sea of the dead. Several of them scraped against the side of the building, their decaying fingernails snapping off as they pawed at the window over and over.

  Grace slowly backed away from the window. She couldn’t tell if they were able to see her; their grayish eyes wandered aimlessly and erratically. Occasionally one would slap at the window. They must have known people were inside the hut. Perhaps they just weren’t smart enough to find a way in. Perhaps they were simply waiting. There was nobody left at the summit. Presumably, there was nobody left at the campground either.

  And that was it, Grace had deduced. The dead were waiting for the last two people alive on the mountain to come outside and meet their fate.

  Grace turned and walked out of the room, hugging the wall as she came back into the hallway. Her eyes glossed over as the reality of the situation pummeled her psyche. She crawled along the side of the hallway and stumbled along the wall, using her other hand for support.

  Roy stood at the other end. He remained silent. No further sarcasm would be necessary. He needed no satisfaction; the look on her face was enough. Grace understood now—kind of. The immediate shock and despair would linger for a while, but she understood for the most part. There was nowhere to go. Nobody was coming to save them. They were trapped.

  As she walked into the common room, Roy offered his hand.

  “Come, sit down,” he said.

  Her face expressionless, Grace instinctively reached out and gave him her hand. He led her to a table, pulled out a chair, and helped her sit down.

  “Feel like eating now?” he asked. Grace’s head twitched. She looked up at Roy as if she didn’t know who he was. She nodded slowly. He turned and headed for the kitchen. Grace then stared ahead, her eyes unblinking, her jaw still slightly open. She felt paralyzed—by fear, doubt, uncertainty, despair. She couldn’t concentrate on a single feeling. The reality was too overwhelming.

  Sitting at the table, staring out into the large room, she still saw them. Moving in waves. Waiting for their prey... Somewhere, buried deep within her brain, was the knowledge that these creatures were still outside and unable to get to her, but it would be a while before that knowledge surfaced and materialized into any kind of consolation.

  CLANG!

  Grace’s mind returned as the noise from the kitchen roused her from her temporary catatonia. Roy had banged into the steel kitchen doors as he came through. He carried a plate with a sandwich and a glass of water. He set both down on the table and took a seat opposite her.

  “That’s fresh deli meat,” he said. “I just sliced it now.”

  Grace’s eyes grew wide with horror.

  “Not to worry,” he said. “The freezer is locked. This came from one of the coolers. Only shelving fits inside.”

  Grace let out a relieved sigh. She grabbed the sandwich with both hands and bit into it. Ham, turkey, and Swiss cheese filled her mouth. It was the best food she’d ever tasted. She chewed slowly, savoring every bite of it. She’d needed this all day; the food was finally allowing her to think clearly and rationally.

  “Sorry for being an asshole,” Roy said.

  Grace looked up at him and put a hand to her mouth. “Me too,” she said between bites. They sat in silence for a few minutes as Grace enjoyed her meal. When she was finished, she sipped her water, savoring every drop of that as well. She placed her glass down on the table and looked up at Roy.

  “So,” she said, “now what?”

  Roy shrugged and arched his eyebrows. “Now, we wait.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “Exactly,” he said, nodding his head.

  Grace’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand. Are we waiting for something?” She studied Roy as he shifted uneasily in his chair. Clearly, he had something to tell her. He just
wasn’t sure how to deliver the news. Finally, after some deliberation, he spoke.

  “We may be stuck here awhile.”

  “What’s awhile?” she asked. “For how long?”

  “Could be a week, could be longer.”

  “Are you kidding??? Can’t we call someone?”

  “Nobody to call,” he said plainly.

  “What do you mean? I was talking to the police when I crashed the car!”

  “Police ain’t coming. Doubt they’d believe you anyway.”

  “Why don’t we pick up the phone and find out?” she challenged.

  “Phone’s out,” he said.

  Grace let out an exasperated breath. “Why is the phone out?” she asked.

  “Protocol.”

  “WHAT?!”

  “Protocol,” he repeated.

  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Whose fucking protocol?”

  Now it was Roy’s turn to express his aggravation. He closed his eyes and leaned forward. He rested his elbows on the table.

  “I’m trying to keep my patience with you,” he said softly, tapping his fingers on the table. He stared at her but he wasn’t quite looking at her. His mind was working, strategizing. “Let’s try something different,” he said. He leaned back into the chair and folded his arms. “What exactly do you know about what’s going on here?”

  Grace was insulted by the question. She knew exactly what was going on here. At least, she thought she did. Didn’t she? She tried to disguise the uncertainty in her voice.

  “Sure. There’s a bunch of dead people running around the mountain, trying to kill us. That about sum it up?”

  Roy laughed at her ignorance. “Lady, you have no idea.”

  She shook her head, disgusted by his condescension. “You think I’m stu—”

  “What did you see outside?” he cut her off. She stared at him in disbelief. Were they really having this conversation?

  “I saw a bunch of fucking dead people walking around, who shouldn’t be walking around, trying to get in!” she said. “There. Happy?”

  Roy shook his head slowly. “No. You didn’t see that at all,” he said. His voice was even softer than before. He leaned back in, toward the table, as if he was about to tell her a huge secret. “You saw a virus.”

  Now she was confused. Terry and Joe and Rose had all confirmed that these were the walking dead, brought back from their centuries-old graves by an energy within the mountains. Roy was full of shit. This wasn’t a sickness; this was no kind of disease. These people were fucking dead.

  “Bullshit,” she said.

  “It’s true,” Roy said, unwavering. “It’s a virus, for sure. And just like any virus, it can’t be killed. Just has to run its course.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” she asked. “I killed a bunch of these things already.”

  “Symptoms,” he claimed.

  Grace threw her hands up. “Are you kidding me with this?”

  Roy slammed his fist down in the table. Grace jumped. She was sure she heard a crack, perhaps the table buckling under the pressure of his giant hand.

  “Now listen, goddammit!” he yelled. “You killed a symptom, understand?” She shook her head nervously. “I’ve been here for nearly sixty years, miss,” he continued. “I was here the last time this happened, back in 1959. You heard that story, I bet?” She nodded. “I was just a little guy back then, of course.” His tone began to ease up. “My father ran the camp store in those days. My mom wasn’t around; she left us both shortly after I was born. So, I spent a lot of days at this campground.” He looked around the hut. “Place wasn’t this big back then.”

  Grace cleared her throat. “Wait... You were here when it last happened?”

  Roy showed a look of surprise. “Oh, I’ve got your attention now, do I?” He paused and waited for her to retort. She stayed quiet. “Good,” he said. “Yes, I was here when it last happened.” He pointed down toward the ground. “My daddy and I rounded up as many survivors as we could and we took shelter in the hut.” He turned and pointed toward the back hallway. “Back then, it was just the kitchen and that hallway. The cafeteria, common room, and front hallway were all added years later.”

  “How long did you have to stay here?” she asked.

  Roy looked up as he tried to remember. “I think it was nearly two weeks,” he said. “And there weren’t many of us. Only five, including my daddy and me.”

  “How did you know when it was safe to leave?” Grace asked.

  “We didn’t,” he said. “We’d run out of food about three days earlier. But it had been a while since we’d seen any of ’em, so we figured we either die of starvation or take our chances getting off the mountain.” He rose from the table and paced around the common room. He stretched his red, flannel-sleeved arms behind his head as he recalled more of the incident. “We grabbed whatever we could use as weapons. We stayed together as a group. Stuck to the trails. God forbid we went off-roadin’ and ran into any of those things.”

  He sat down again on a sofa. His tired eyes gazed downward as he ran his hand slowly over the cushion, remembering the time of the last “outbreak.” Grace waited for him to continue. He remained silent for a while, and Grace began to wonder if that was all there was to the story.

  “So you guys made it off the mountain and...that’s it?”

  “Pretty much,” he said.

  “What about the other survivors? Weren’t you afraid they’d tell someone about what happened?”

  He chuckled at the thought; his head bounced when he laughed. “I doubt anyone would have believed ’em.” He turned and looked at Grace. “Would you?”

  She thought about it. It actually made sense. After all, who in their right mind would have believed that the dead were coming back to life and killing people? She needed more answers though. There had to be more to it all.

  She stood up and walked over to the sofa. Roy sat with his chin resting in his hand, looking off. Grace sat down on a coffee table across from him.

  “You called it a virus,” she said. He nodded slowly. “Why do you think it’s a virus?”

  He steered his gaze toward hers. “Because a virus never dies,” he said. “A virus will run its course and then be done with you. Except, instead of going away, it stays with you. Lies dormant.”

  “Okay,” she said. But the confusion in her eyes was enough for Roy to know that she didn’t quite follow.

  “This,” Roy said, pointing toward the window, “all of this will go away, eventually. But it’ll never be gone for good. It’ll always come back again and again.” He leaned forward and looked her straight in the eyes. “You might kill one zombie. Hell, you might kill a hundred. But you’ll never kill the disease.”

  Grace looked into his eyes. He was very convincing. He believed every word he said. It was hard not to trust a man who’d been through it once before.

  “So how come some of you refer to some as the ‘undead’ and some as ‘zombies?’ Aren’t they the same thing?”

  Roy brought his hands to his chest and interlaced his fingers in a praying position. “Is a vampire not undead?” he asked.

  Grace again stared back at him, confused. “Vampires?”

  Roy relaxed his hands and rested them on his legs. “Never mind. Think of it this way: Those people out there...” He pointed again toward the windows. “...and they are in fact people. They were just like you and me at one time: living, breathing, regular heartbeats. Except when they passed on from this life, their souls released from their living bodies. Problem is, their living bodies expired here.” He raised his arms and made a sweeping motion with his hands. “But the energy that exists in these mountains awoke their bodies after their souls had left. The energy reanimated them, made them what they are now. Not alive, mind you, but not quite dead either. They’re something in between. We refer to them as undead. Zombie is just a slang term. For some folks, the term zombie helps them reconcile the idea within themselves.
People need to attach labels to things, especially things that aren’t easily interpreted. Kinda like the universe. Nobody really knows how we got here or how it all started. So, most folks put their faith in God. Or a god. Most folks don’t like not knowing or not having an answer. Placing their faith in God gives them an answer. It’s comforting. Same thing with the undead. ‘Undead’ is too abstract for some. So many adopted term ‘zombie.’ Whichever term you use, once you accept what this is, then you move on to the coping phase.”

  “What the hell is the coping phase?” Grace asked.

  “Exactly what it sounds like,” Roy said. “It’s when you’ve moved past acceptance and learn what you need to do to cope with this, to manage it.”

  Grace processed everything that Roy had told her. She wasn’t about to delve into her issues with faith—that would have been too much to handle. She needed to learn more about the undead, though. She needed to know why and how this secret had been kept for so long.

  “Where does the energy come from?” she asked. “Why is it only here?”

  “Oh, there are plenty of theories. The most popular one is that the energy is the result of an old Native American curse.”

  “And nobody knows how to lift the curse.”

  Roy nodded. “Of course, when the early settlers first arrived, they knew nothing about native customs or traditions. When the first recorded outbreak occurred, they didn’t know what they were dealing with. They just killed as many as they could and ran as far away as possible when they could no longer fight them off.”

  “How come so few know about this?”

  Roy looked at her skeptically. “Seriously?” he asked. “I know I’m not the first person to tell you about this.” He waited, but she held firm. “Hell,” he said, giving up. “It’s a secret. This will never get out. We don’t want it to get out.”

  “Who’s ‘we?’” she cut him off.

  “We is US!” he said, raising his voice. “We is ME! We is the locals, the people who live and work here! Do you realize what would happen to this place, to the entire state of New Hampshire, if this secret ever got out?! How much money the state would lose? Nobody would visit anymore. State parks would empty. Forget about camping, hiking, fishing—nobody would risk it.”